Category: Depression

An 8 mile story

Jess Guth1 Comment

Yesterday I mentioned that I think we get (even more) judgy of each other in January. Well I think we also get judgy of ourselves. I have struggled and struggled and struggled to remember that comparing myself to other people who run is less than helpful. I see other people’s stats on strava or on FB posts and I judge them and I judge me. I see them as runners, I feel crap about my running ability… But that’s changed a bit.

I think one, possibly unintended, consequence of joining the #Run1000mile Challenge last year when there really wasn’t a hope in hell that I’d get there was acceptance of different running. In that FB group there are people who routinely run more in a month than us mere mortals usually do in a year, there are people who will have nailed the 1000 miles by spring, people who run up mountains like I run up molehills and there are some who can actually run downhill (I know, weird, right). Then there are those who run marathons, halves, 10ks at speeds that look closer to my 5k PB than anything you should reasonably expect over those distances; there are people who race, people who don’t, people who think 10 minute mile pace is a nice easy run and then there are – wait for it – people who run slowly. People who are amazed and ecstatic that they have managed over 50 miles in a month, people who are slow, people who are building up distance, people who are just starting, people who have started several times, people who have been running forever, people just doing it because it might just be possible – people a little bit like me.

The group supports everyone, we celebrate all successes and I think the people who make that group special, who are always there commenting are people who really understand that running is personal, it’s our own private rollercoaster. We all got on that rollercoaster for different reasons but once you’re on it’s one hell of a ride and that ride is different for each of us. It can be about speed or distance, about climbs, about challenging terrain, about weight loss, about physical health, about mental health, about getting out and seeing the world, about racing yourself or others, it can be about anything you want it to be. And it doesn’t always have to be about the same thing. I had no idea running could be like that – I presumed that runners run to get faster and go further and chase PBs and beat others in races. That presumption shaped my perspective for a long time but slowly slowly slowly I am learning that it’s my run, my rules. It’s funny because I have used exactly that line so often when people have asked for advice on their running – like if it’s ok to take walk breaks or whether that’s cheating. Your run, your rules. Why didn’t I ever realise that this is also true for me?

So recently I have tried very hard to not compare, not to others and not to what I could do at the height of Dopey training in the second half of 2015 or what I once did somewhere on a particularly good day. I have tried to forget about pace and distance and I promised myself that running was always going to be a safe and happy place free from judgment and self-loathing. That’s important because I run mostly for mental health and if running starts to impact negatively rather than help, well then I’m in serious trouble – there’s nowhere else for me to go. It’s sort of working. I’ve said before I try and judge ‘good’ when it comes to a run based on whether I enjoyed it and/or saw something cool along the way.

So this was quite a longwinded way to get to my 8 mile story. Here are the stats – look at them and think about what you see, tell me what you see if you like – then I’ll tell you the story of that run.

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So you might see slow (ish) first 4 miles but fairly consistent pace and then it all falls apart. Mile 5 pace drops significantly, mile 6 recovers just a little, one last push maybe before crashing out completely and having to walk the remaining 2 miles home. Yep, well if I look at those stats in a few months time, I’ll probably think something similar (which is why I’m writing about it now and will add a comment on strava too).  So here’s my 8 mile story:

I didn’t really want to run. The black pup has been hanging around wondering if it can be bothered to come and pounce and I’ve rather been hoping it might not find me on the sofa (of course in reality, it’s the depression that’s keeping me on the sofa but stick with me). It was also sleeting. I was scared the canal towpath might be slippery. It wasn’t. So we set off to run across to Bingley and feed our friend’s cats and then run back. 4 miles there and 4 miles back. The first 4 miles were great. For the last few weeks I have mostly been running 1 minute walking 30 seconds; I changed the intervals today to run 2 minutes and run 30 seconds. It felt good to be running a bit longer, my feet and calves were ok with the increase and while it definitely felt harder, it also felt comfortable. The first 4 miles are therefore actually just awesome and about 45 seconds per mile faster on average than I have been doing along the flat – without trying, without being miserable.

At half way we had a few minutes rest obviously as we sorted the cats and I stretched out
my calves. They were ok but just threatening a niggle.

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Then we set off back. Mile 5 was great but included the Bingley Locks – 3 and 5 rise and while I ran up the 3, I needed a slightly longer walk to recover and there was no way I was running up 5.  Mile 6 I started to struggle a little but this was close to the furthest I’ve run for a while and I wasn’t struggling in the sense of needing or wanting longer walk breaks or even stopping. I suspect I did slow a little though and then decided to try an new footpath to head home and ended up walking a bit to get onto it and then walking a bit more as it got steeper.

Mile 7 then – well mile 7 was up the muddy footpath and across a couple of muddy fields and then an section uphill on the road. I am struggling with muddy. It’s not normal. I don’t even think I’m scared of falling – I’m pretty well padded all round – I don’t know what it is but it’s panic inducing. It’s far beyond a healthy respect for the conditions and not wanting to fall. So not rational. My instinct was to turn back or to curl up in a ball and rock, or freeze and cry. I didn’t to any of those, I kept moving forward, very slowly and with the odd whimper but I kept moving. It took a while to calm down and then we tried a little jog again. Then came the footpath between two estates – muddy of course – so panic set it in again and I just had to keep moving forward – slowly but surely. I got there.

A last little jog and final walk up hill – done. Longest run this year – and for quite a while. I have also already run more this February than I did in the same month last year. So my 8 mile story is a really positive one – 6 good miles of running and 2 miles of facing fears and battling through. I seem to have banned the pup to the hallway too. So let’s not judge our runs by the stats – they don’t tell us what really happened out there.

 

Anxiety is a Bitch

Jess Guth2 Comments

I went to a workshop in Birmingham today. More on that in another post if I can find the time to write that. For now I am writing because I need to. Because it focuses my thoughts on doing something. I left the workshop feeling a bit tired and struggling a little with this silly cold that started on Friday. Otherwise I felt fine. I walked across campus in the dark and drizzle. Fine. I got to the station and made my way down onto the platform. A little anxious. So many people. I squeezed onto the train and went right to the end of the carriage. I needed to breathe but the end of the carriage meant being boxed in. Rock and hard place.

The journey from the University to New Street Station is 7 minutes. 7 agonising minutes during which I could feel the panic building. I tried to control my breathing, I tried closing my eyes, I tried my mantras, I tried all the things I’d perfected but haven’t really had to use for such a long time. (I did have a little attack the other week but nothing compared to this). It didn’t work. I got off the train and got swallowed up by a sea of people. I must have had tears streaming because a little while later I noticed that my face was wet.

I had my phone in my hand. I wanted to call but what would I say? And I couldn’t actually lift my hand to dial or anything anyway. I just walked with the mass of people slowly up the steps, too slowly. I wanted to scream. At the top of the steps I ducked right when everyone else seemed to be going left. A tiny little space to breathe just a little.  I asked Facebook for suggestions for a quiet place in Birmingham New Street to sit and breathe knowing that such a place probably doesn’t exist. I couldn’t stay where I was, the crowds were relentless.

Walking helps, walking always helps. Taking deliberate steps and breaths I walked but it didn’t help, it was too slow, too many people. I focused on the ticket barrier, went through, thought ‘out’ would be a really good idea but ‘out’ was so busy, so many people just rushing and just so many people. I froze, turned round and went back. Up, up the escalator was the current path of least resistance. I went up and saw Foyles. A bookshop. Bookshops are quiet. I dived in and walked to the back. I wondered round. My chest was so incredibly tight, breathing hurt. I found myself standing and staring at ‘teen fiction’ for a while. Slowly, slowly everything slowed. I felt less dizzy, less urgent. I looked at my phone – no suggestions.

I walked towards the front of the shop. I still had nearly an hour before my train. Everything was busy and I could feel the world speed up again as I got closer to the door. Then I realised that the middle of the floor I was on had several restaurants sort of open plan popped together. They weren’t busy. It felt a bit like the eye of a storm where it’s calm with all the craziness whirling around the outside. If I could get there I might be able to just sit there, have something better than a sarnie for my tea and breathe. I’m not sure how long I stared at the path between me and the entrance to ‘Giraffe’ but eventually I went.

I don’t remember getting there. I sat in a little booth flanked by the kitchen on one side and empty tables on the other. I ordered a salad and a smoothy, nourishing and yummy stuff although I wasn’t at all sure I could eat. Kath phoned to reassure. I was starting to feel better. But breathing hurt. My smoothie came. I closed my eyes and took a long drag on the straw which induced a coughing fit rather than the calm I was aiming for. I tried again. Now my bubble was starting to build around me. The techniques I learned in the Bradford days when panic attacks were daily occurrences were working. My salad came, I realised I was actually hungry. I sat and looked around. From here things didn’t look too scary. My world had stopped spinning.

Eventually I got the bill. I took some deep breaths and took the shortest possible route, which of course I’d worked out as soon as I sat down, to the escalators. Once at the bottom I was briefly disoriented then saw the barriers and my platform and went for it. I got down to the platform and tried to focus. I tried to shut out the world but it wasn’t working. It was too busy and the panic started again. The train took so long to arrive and just as pacing up and down didn’t seem like it was going to be enough a couple of messages came through on twitter and on messenger. The tightness started to ease just a little, just enough for me to function, get on the train, find my seat and focus on typing this. Sharing it with you.

I’m breathing ok now. I think the tightness is now mostly from my cold/cough, I don’t feel dizzy anymore. I just feel tired. Really tired. Anxiety is a bitch and today she got me. She got me without warning. I wasn’t expecting her, I wasn’t ready for her. Why should I be. She’s been AWOL for over a year or at least she’s been in the background. Now that I know she’s back she won’t get me as easily again, not with that force. Time to step up the yoga, the breathing and the running miles. The bitch might be back but I learned a thing or two last time. Bring it.

Nearly 6 miles solo

Jess GuthLeave a comment

I’ve got some demons to outrun. I also have a book to finish which requires a far clearer head than I currently have. I need to run. I need to run for sanity and for clarity. But I haven’t been able to really. Confidence has gone, disappeared.

The day after the last blog post I was going to go for a run in the morning. I got my kit ready the night before and laid it out next to the bed. When I woke up I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I just couldn’t see how I could possibly get my fat arse out there and run. I just couldn’t. Kath gently nudged me towards calm and shaking like mad I put my running socks on. Then the rest of my kit and by the time I was dressed my breathing was almost under control and the tears had stopped. I managed a mile, stopped to say hello to the sheep that are now in the field ours used to be in. There were a few more tears and lots more doubt about running and being fat and being fat and running. Then we headed back, mostly walking but some running.

Today we were meant to run at Bolton Abbey in their organised event for Manorlands, the Sue Ryder hospice. I was signed up for the 10k and Kath for the 10 miles. But this morning Kath wasn’t feeling well and the idea of 1000+ runners at Bolton Abbey which is her safe running place was too much, so we didn’t go. I’ve been wondering about going for a run all day. But the negative voices telling me I can’t actually run have been quite vocal. I’ve also been ridiculously emotional and tearful all weekend. At about 3.30pm though I decided that I should just go. I’d feel better for getting out, Kath was happy watching something on tv I wasn’t fussed about watching and I was making no progress with the book. So off I went.

I hadn’t really decided where to run or how far to go. I ran down the road and through the little housing estate and to the canal, then I just kept going along the canal. The autumn colours were stunning. I was hoping to see a kingfisher but it wasn’t to be today. The ducks were out in force though and one of the fields that comes right down to the canal bank on the opposite side was full of geese. I had a vague sense of working quite hard but the good sort of hard. I was deliberately not looking at my watch. I didn’t want to be disappointed. I passed what we call the stone bridge and moved from well maintained towpath to muddy track and pushed the pace. This is where I’d be likely to slow down. I still felt strong so I pushed a little more. The watch beeped for 3 miles and I ran a bit further to hit 5k and then stopped. 11.58 pace. That’s basically the speed of light for me. I seem to have accidentally run a fast 5km, trying to outrun my thoughts maybe. I had a little breather, checked my phone and wondered what to do about the way home. The light was fading quite fast so I decided that crossing the canal and going home through the fields and woods wasn’t sensible so I’d go back the way I came.

I set off back, much more slowly now and aware of my bad sock and trainer combination – blisters, ouch. I must remember that those socks with those trainers doesn’t work. Once off the mud I realised how dark it had got so tried to speed up again a little – the first mile was 13.40 pace, the second 12.20. I ran 2 miles to the first canal bridge I could use to head home and decided that it would be safest to come off the canal and head home on the road. So in the end I did just under 6 miles with the last 3/4 of a mile walking up the hill home.

I do feel better. I feel good about having got out and about actually being able to run a total of 5 miles with only one little breather. I enjoyed the moments of clarity as I was running, those moments where you’re not thinking but you just know. The clarity isn’t lasting today but it was nice to have it while I was out there. So from barely making it a mile at 14 minute mile pace earlier in the week to running 5 in under 13 minute mile pace -the first three in under 12 minutes per mile – welcome to my rollercoaster.

‘That’ kind of tired

Jess Guth5 Comments

I’ve not run for a little while and I don’t really know why. Can’t. Something is going on in my head. When I am not in a position to run I look forward to it and plan when I can go and it all feels positive and good but when I have the time I can’t. It’s all in my head of course but it feels like I physically can’t move off the sofa or wherever I am. Sitting on the train home this week I have looked forward to a run. Arriving home the idea of going out again filled me with paralyzing fear.

Yesterday I left the senior leadership team meeting (don’t, just don’t), walked to the station, got on the train, propped my way too heavy head against the window and let my eyes fall shut. ‘You’re ‘that’ kind of tired, aren’t you? I said to myself. ‘Hmmm’. I replied trying not to doze off. ‘No, you need to know  this. You’re ‘that’ sort of tired’. I woke up in a bit of a flap at Bingley – the station before mine. But I was right, I do need to pay attention to the fact that I am ‘that’ sort of tired. Tiredness that doesn’t really allow sleep at all or forces way too much sleep, tiredness that isn’t about sleep, that sleep makes little difference to, tiredness that is more mental than physical. Tiredness that makes thinking difficult. The last time I felt this tired, well let’s just not go there.

So I need to get back running, I need to acknowledge this ‘that sort of tired’ feeling and think carefully about what is causing it – to figure that out I need to run and I think I probably need to run far and on my own. Both of those just seem impossible just now. But we’ve been here before haven’t we. So, I once again invite you to come on the roller coaster ride with me. I’m hoping for a short ride but do hang on just to be safe.I will quote

Re-setting the mind

Jess GuthLeave a comment

Why did I start running? Well I suppose the handful of attempts at various Couch to 5km programmes in my late teens and twenties were about getting fitter but my heart was never really in it. Then there was the 2013 half marathon in memory of Rachel, well my heart wasn’t really in the running bit then either.  Then I started again because it was a way to try and shift some weight and then there was Dopey and London and and and… At some point though my reason for running became running. I run to get out, to enjoy being outside, to explore, to see places, to notice nature, to be healthier. But recently that’s not where my focus has been. It’s been on performance. It’s been on distance, on pace and on measuring ‘better’ by how far I could go and how fast. Sometimes that’s fine I suppose because sometimes running regularly means I am able to go faster and further but mostly it’s not helpful for me to measure ‘better’ by distance and pace. Measuring better or even good in that way just makes me miserable.

I was thinking about all this as I was plodding my way through 4.4 miles using run/walk intervals this early lunchtime. After a few weeks of feeling the pressure of running and of trying to distance myself from the idiocy of about 80% of what I, along with most academics, do at work, I could feel myself slipping towards that place where the sofa becomes the safe space and leaving it gets harder and harder. I was beginning to feel like I wasn’t good at anything and that everything I was doing wasn’t good enough. But of course that’s not true and when I stop to think rather than just feel, I know this. So after a morning of feeling like I couldn’t really get out of bed, postponing our planned adventure to Haworth for a run and eventually going out for breakfast instead I somehow made it out the door for a run. I agreed to running intervals and taking the pressure off.  I didn’t actually want to go at all but I’d run out or energy to argue. 2 minutes running, 30 seconds walking – that seemed doable.

There were bits of the run where I managed to just enjoy being out and being able to move, to feel the wind in my face and be aware of the sweat tingling down the middle of my back. There were moments when seeing the geese grumbling irritably at the swans and their young made me smile and when I remembered to look out for the kingfisher (no luck today). There were stretches where I was completely aware of my body doing what it can to move as effectively as it can, I was aware of my breathing, of my feet striking the towpath lightly and moving off again, my arms moving in harmony with my legs that even at 3.5 miles weren’t feeling the slightest bit tired yet. Running can be the easiest and the hardest thing to do all at the same time. I couldn’t quite get my head out of better being distance and pace because I was pleased to have gone further than the last run and a little annoyed that it was quite slow but also happy it was under 13 minute mile pace. But if we take a healthier, happier definitions of what a good run might be then this was on the right track. It was a good run because I wasn’t miserable, because I enjoyed being out, because I looked around and saw the autumn colours and the ducks and the dogs going about their business.

So I am trying to re-set my mind – to stop thinking about ‘good’ and ‘better’ using traditional or usual measures of progress. And I don’t mean just for running. It’s all about trying to work out what’s important and hanging on to that. How fast I can go is really irrelevant. How far I can go is a little more relevant but actually not much – I can always walk and if how fast doesn’t matter then the how far question is far far less important. So today’s run was the start of refocusing on the things that matter.